By That Sin Fell The Angels
by FlamelsCross98
Summary: The story of Arachne - before she became the big creepy spider-thing


**Another thing for my English. We had to write whatever we wanted, but using a quote from Shakespeare as the title. I chose this one, but apparently it's too long, so I'm putting it on here.**

**I apologize in advance for any ****inaccuracies, so please just overlook them (I don't wanna hear how wrong I am XD).**

**Well, here goes:**

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By That Sin Fell The Angels

She stands back to admire her work.

In starling colours of gold and red, a woman looks back. Her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and her bright eyes sparkle. The perfectly chiselled features resemble the statues of Athena in the temples. Maybe – and here her heart leaps – it, _she_, is more beautiful than the Athena Parthenos.

"Arachne," her father calls.

She turns to the door, careful not to look in the mirror hung on the wall behind her. In a room resembling hers perfectly, a second woman turns with her. But this woman's curly hair was tangled and coarse. Her figure resembled more of a teapot than an hourglass. But that isn't her. She is beautiful. She is the woman in the tapestry, she tells herself.

"Arachne, come join us," her father calls again. She sighs.

"Coming!"

Around the wooden table in the next room, her father sits with his guest. He is an old man, back bent and hair greying. His friend is a bit younger, but not much. Maybe forty? Definitely no one a beauty like her should be interested in.

"This is my daughter, Arachne," she is introduced.

"I've heard of you," the guest informs her. He smiles. "Best weaver in Athens, maybe even all of Greece."

Maybe? She thinks. Of course she's the best.

"People say you were trained by Athena herself."

And at that statement, the burning sense of pride, previously sated, wells up again.

She scoffs. "I most definitely was not. I am better even than the goddess."

Her father's face, previously relaxed, flicks to an expression of fear. "Don't say such things, Arachne."

Foolish old man, she thinks. She is the best in the world; no one can make tapestries as lifelike as hers.

Her father is still talking. "You shouldn't insult the goddess like that. You are a mere mortal."

And her pride explodes in her chest. How dare he? Her fury clouds her thoughts, and she speaks without thinking.

"Then the goddess can prove herself. I challenge Athena, goddess of crafts, to a contest!"

Her father's guest gasps. He stands hurriedly and leaves the house, anxious to avoid such blasphemy.

"Arachne, withdraw that at once! Don't attract the goddess' anger!" Her father speaks quickly, with an obvious undertone of horror.

She ignores him. She knows she's better, but what image to use? What will display her talents best? And then she smiles, the lips stretching unpleasantly as an idea presents itself. She will show them all. She is the best.

The door to their house creaks open, and a walking stick pokes through. Her father doesn't appear to notice, transfixed in horror at his daughter's actions.

The door is pushed open, and a dishevelled old crone enters. Her back hunches over in an arc that is completed by her gnarled stick. A thick shawl drapes her shoulders in colours that may once have been vibrant but have now faded to a grey-white.

"What do you want, crone?" Arachne asks scathingly. Someone like her should not have to speak with the rubbish from the streets.

The woman looks up at her, which presents her with an apparently large amount of effort. "Arachne," she croaks. "Withdraw your challenge to Athena. You can still be spared if you decline now."

She feels a blow to her chest. Does no one have faith in her abilities? But she will not give in. "I can beat her and I will. So leave, crone."

The old woman's body shakes with constrained rage. She straightens, and as she does the lines of age fall away from her face. Her hair unravels and cascades down her shoulder in shining brunette. Her eyes open fully to reveal startling grey orbs. The shawls falls from her now perfectly shaped shoulders and a stunning chiton in gold and white frames her figure.

Athena points at her, finger shaking. "Do not try me, mortal!"

The sight of the angered goddess would have most grown men in tears, but Arachne's arrogance knows no bounds.

"I can beat you and I will. Athena, I challenge you to a weaving contest. The winner is the best weaver in the world."

Athena shakes her head, knowing what is to come. She conjures two looms and a basket of yarn.

All day, the shuttles clack across the loom, magical images forming. A rainbow of colours decorates the tapestries as the two women create their art.

As the sun sets and the night sky turns a warm orange, the two stand back to admire their work.

On the right, Athena's tapestry glows golden. The mountain of Olympus, home of the gods, stands tall and the clouds swirl around it. In their auric armour and shining weapons the gods pierce the room with their strong gaze.

To the left, another tapestry in stunning aquamarine stands. Ariadne smiles as she takes in her creation. Athena looks over, and the room turns dark.

For in the tapestries, once again the mighty Olympus stands, in splendour almost as magnificent as the goddess'. However, the gods lounge about, as though drunken old men and women.

The thunderous look on Athena's face, which Ariadne briefly wonders if she inherited from her father Zeus, chills the air. And for the first time, Ariadne's pride lets her down. She feels fear to her very bones at the thought of what is to come.

She fears the worst. How to escape? Before she consciously reaches a decision, her hands are at work, twisting the yarn to form a noose. And she had no doubts, because what Athena had planned was surely worse.

As the world became grainy, and the sounds muffled, she makes out her father. She vaguely hears him beg Athena to spare her life. But then she'll have a worse punishment! However, she is not in a position to argue. Before the world completely disappears, she sees Athena make a small motion.

A nod.

And as everything fades to black, she feels something. Her hair falling down her shoulders, and her head becoming lighter. Then she feels a sharp pain on her face, and she finds she can no longer mover her mouth, or hear anything. At the same time, her arms and legs retract into her body, becoming spindly as they do. She tries to scream, to wake up, to escape this nightmare. But this is real, and she has no mouth to scream from.

In one final burst of pain, the world becomes visible, and larger. Or is she smaller?

A giant Athena strides past her huge father and grabs the mirror from her room. And when she returns, Ariadne realises what has happened. She will weave for the rest of her life.

As a spider.


End file.
